


I Pray to God This Breath Will Last

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Series: Gladiator AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks up at the door and waits. He hopes that whoever it is, they will be go easy on him. Werewolf he might be, with superhuman healing, but that does not mean that he will not be sore the next day. And he is scheduled for a fight.</p><p>Let it be someone easy to please, Derek hopes. Someone who will be quick to take their pleasure and even quicker to leave. He keeps hoping this as the door is pushed open. A voice murmurs a quick set of instructions to whoever has hired him for this session. It is cut off half way through by a familiar, impatient voice that makes Derek strain against his bonds.<br/>--<br/>Rome based, Gladiator AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Pray to God This Breath Will Last

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Slavery, implied dub-con (thus the mildly dubious content) and allusions to being forced to perform sexual activities.  
>  I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, especially when it comes to the names. But I really didn’t want to go for ‘Derecus’ instead of ‘Derek’  
> Inspired by cofie’s beautiful roman au fanart, special dedication to siny and butt loads of thanks to Kim, as always.

A familiar jangling noise pulls Derek out of the half dozing state that he has been drifting in for a while. He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the keys rattle against the [_Doctore_](http://spartacus.wikia.com/wiki/Doctore_\(title\))’s hips. As they walk down the corridor, coming closer and close to his own cell, Derek can also hear the heavy trod of the guards feet as they follow the slave. There's only one reason why their trainer would be here with the guards.  


Who has been Hired tonight. Quiet Boyd? Pretty Isaac? Or maybe…  


The men stop in front of his cage. Derek keeps his eyes closed when a key is shoved roughly into the lock and twisted roughly. The rough creaking noise rings down the long hallway lit with torches. "On your feet, Derek." The _Doctore_ tells him. In his corner, Derek slowly opens his eyes and looks up at the bulky man standing in the cell's doorway, and the two stoic guards standing behind him. “[ _Dominus'_](http://spartacus.wikia.com/wiki/Dominus) orders. You’ve been Hired for tonight.” It was  _his_  turn then.  


He takes his time getting up, sandled feet digging into the sand as he straightens his stiff body. The dark haired man is not amused or patient, as is typical of him. He is a strict and impatient teacher, pushing his gladiators to the limit every day during training. And much like he does on the sands, the man steps forward to roughly grab him by the arm and jerk him out of his cell. He nods at the two guards, "Chain him."

 

 

As the guards wrap the heavy chain and shackles around his wrists and ankles, Derek reminds himself of his gentle mother’s soft words ("We may be predators but this does not make us killers") and tries to remain calm. As always, he memory of his mother makes Derek swallow harshly. He wonders where she is now. Had she been sold off into slavery like him when the Romans had invaded their village? Or had she di-

 

He stumbles as the guards push him down the hallway, urging him towards the staircase that leads upstairs into the [_ludus_](http://spartacus.wikia.com/wiki/Ludus). They pass by many cells filled with sleeping gladiators. There's only one or two curious eyes that follows their procession. Derek ignores their gaze and wonders who he’ll be expected to service this time. Another noble or senator who thinks it is amusing to humiliate one of the Arena’s best gladiators? Someone their _dominus_ owes a favor too? A soldier who wishes to prove himself better? A husband and wife where one of them will sit and observe while Derek pleasures the other? 

 

The _ludus_ is quiet, moonlight making the marble underneath his feet shine like the finest opal. Derek's stomach twists in mingled disgust, horror, and dismay when they arrive in the richly decorated _[cubiculum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus#Interior_architectural_elements)_. It's someone rich whom he has to please tonight. "Over here," One of the guard orders sharply, rough hands pushing Derek towards the side wall. He stumbles, chains restricting his movements, and hits the wall. His knees smart from where they struck the wall. Derek bites back several curses and slowly turns around to face the grinning Roman. "Be a good bitch and stay on your knees for the rest of the night."   


The mocking tone and the insult makes Derek’s lips curl up in an angry snarl. His wolf rises up, snarling at the disrespect. There is a strong urge to rip himself out of these flimsy chains, grab the cocky human and demonstrate _just_ how much powerful Derek is. But he reigns that desire in. He can't reveal his werewolf nature to the Romans, not even if his _dominus_ and his wicked daughter know about them. About him. Derek has no desire to be called a monster and killed as such.  


So Derek bites down on his tongue and keeps his head low. He stares at his feet and the floor underneath them. The moonlight bounces off the water filled in the [impluvium](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus#Interior_architectural_elements) and all over the floor. Add to that the muted golden light of distant torches, the floor looks like a living work of art. The silver and gold colors bring back memories from his childhood. When he was but child again, teasing Cora that her new toga makes her torso look too long and running to hide behind his older mother's golden robes. He recalls all the nights he and Laura snuck out of their home on warm summer nights, more interested in watching the stars than sleeping in their beds.   


He thinks about the last time he had seen his family and how happy they had all been. When he closes his eyes, Derek can almost imagine being 14 summers old, reclining against a jutting rock and listening to his family bicker and chat amongst each other as they set their outdoor meal out. He can almost hear Cora whining she doesn't want to eat out. She'd rather be back at home instead of out where all the insects were.  


Derek does not think about the time short after that. He does not think about gold spun hair, wicked blue eyes and sly smiles or the fire that came afterwards which burned his house down. He does not think about the smell of ash and flame that still haunts him to this day. Or the screams that had poured out while the Roman soldiers had rushed in. He does not think about how his own foolishness has led to his family’s name being dragged through the mud. Oh what would his parents say if they could see him now…  


There is a noise from the other side of the room, jerking Derek out of his thoughts. Footsteps are approaching. He looks up at the door and waits, body stiff with anticipation. He hopes that whoever it is, they will be go easy on him. Werewolf he might be, complete with superhuman healing, but that does not mean that he will not be sore the next day. And he is scheduled for a fight. One he intends on winning.  


Let it be someone easy to please, Derek hopes. Someone who will be quick to take their pleasure and even quicker to leave. He hopes and prays fervently its not someone who shares Kate's proclivities. A rough voice murmurs a quick set of instructions to whoever has hired him for this session. It is cut off half way through by a familiar, impatient voice that makes Derek's heart expand with hope.  


The richly clad figure that steps through the doorway is a welcome sight. One that Derek has longed to see since their last meeting weeks ago. Warm brown eyes meet his for a moment before they pass on towards the _Doctore_  fidgeting in his corner. “Leave us.” The man’s voice is low but firm, demanding immediate obedience.   


Derek can read the momentary hesitation in the other slaves' body before he bows low and slips out, tugging a long stretch of sheer fabric over the entrance. For a moment, they both remain in place, staring their fill at each other before the man breathes out, "I saw your last fight. You were magnificent as always."    


He stands still, watching and waiting as Stiles walks up to him. “I noticed you in the [pulvinus](http://spartacus.wikia.com/wiki/Pulvinus).” Stiles smiles, no doubt remembering the way Derek had raised his sword towards him after he'd achieved victory. Derek watches the way Stiles' eyes flit over his body, critical as ever as they seek out any bruises or signs of misuse. It makes Derek want to smile and hide at the same time, that someone would worry about him so. Stiles has made it clear, on more than one occasion, that he detests the way Derek is treated. ‘Just because you are a gladiator and bound to the Argent _ludus_  does not make you an animal or any less human.’ Stiles had seethed the first time they had met.

 

"I'm alright." Derek says quietly, holding Stiles' gaze before nodding in reassurance.

 

Stiles stares back, brown eyes wide and searching before dropping down to Derek's chest. And then he smiles. "You are still wearing it."   


His hands twitch, wanting to mirror Stiles' hand as it comes up to touch the simple necklace Stiles had thrown to him at the end of a successful fight months ago. Had it only been months? It feels like a life time ago when he'd staggered up to his feet, bloody and weary and caught sight of the attractive Roman throwing the necklace at him.   


Gentle fingertips trace the edge of the necklace that Derek had been given as token by the young man himself, a token of good luck as Stiles had explained quickly during their first meeting. He tries to hold back the shiver that runs down his spine when Stiles’ fingers brush against his skin during their exploration. “Why would I not be?” Derek asks in a rough voice, hands itching to reach out and touch Stiles.  


He wants to press his lips to the collar bone peeking out from under white cotton, slide his hands up lean arms and hold the lanky body against his while their mouths relearn each other. The blush that blossoms on Stiles’ face pushes Derek into action. His hand rises up to cup a warm cheek, reverent and worshipful.   


Stiles immediately turns his face into the rough palm, the naked longing on his face looking all the more sweeter because of his shyly averted eyes. Derek tries not to smile when the shyness turns into deliberate coyness. “Surely a skilled warrior like yourself has been presented with more valuable presents than mine.”   


Shaking his head, Derek’s reply comes out too truthful. “There is nothing I value more. Save my sword and shield.” That prompts a bark of amusement from Stiles. The flash of white teeth and pink tongue turn Derek’s mouth dry. He wants to taste that laugh, swallow it down like water and keep it against his beating heart.  


The young man’s laughter quickly melts into a happy hum that Derek greedily steals from the top of his tongue. Quick fingers slip up his naked chest and rest teasingly under his jaw, holding Derek’s face in place while Stiles surges in for a harder kiss. Derek is more than happy to pull the other man closer, greedy for everything and anything that the man will give him.  


"Too long," Stiles pants, his hooded eyes glazed over with lust and hunger. "It has been too long." Derek can only nod and growl in irritation at the fabric that lies between his hands and Stiles’ skin. It feels like an eternity before he manages to pull all their clothes off, his loincloth being easier to deal with than Stiles’ tunic, and then...  


In between fervent kisses, Derek runs his hands up the younger man's chest and moves back towards the bed. They fall back on it together, Stiles crawling into his lap and rubbing his hard length into Derek's stomach as he moans desperately. “Derek,” Stiles whispers, hands twisting in the werewolf’s hair to the point of pain. “Please. Please do not tease me. Not tonight.”  


Who is he to deny such a sweet request. Derek lies back down and braces himself before he adjusting Stiles’ body, lining their erections up perfectly. Stiles’ hips impatient shift and roll, rubbing his hard cock against Derek’s and the smooth grove of his hips. Stiles’ fingers  _yank_ on his hair when Derek takes them both in hand and he begins to pump. The young man’s voice bounces off stone and shadow, whispering and crying out all kinds of disjointed, dirty things that make Derek work his hand faster. 

 

There is too much stimulation to his senses. Derek feels overwhelmed, like he has felt every time he has been around Stiles. He doesn’t know what to focus on so he tries to focus on everything at the same time and gets quick flashes of sensation. Stiles’ knees tightening outside against his thighs. A moan brushing past his heated ear. Sharp teeth biting and teasing his lips. Sticky fingertips smearing more pearly liquid over their erections.  


"More." Stiles begs, shamelessly working his hips back and forth so that he is fucking against and into Derek’s hand. "More, more, more! Please! Please!" Derek wants to bite, wants to mark Stiles’ skin and leave behind traces of himself that will remain longer than his own touch. He wants to leave his claim on Stiles permanently. Let the world know who Stiles has been with. But he holds back.  


It is only when the man throws his head back with a throaty groan, that Derek gives in and gently bites down with human teeth on Stiles' corded neck. He keeps his teeth there, licking and sucking at Stiles’ neck until the rhythm of his hips falters and all Stiles can do is shudder weakly. Derek takes the opportunity to roll over and push Stiles back onto the bed and pump them harder.  


The younger man is a vision of erotic loveliness as he writhes on the sheets, kissed by light and shadow. Derek pulls away to stare in awe. He cannot believe that he has known the man for less than a few months. This sarcastic, Roman noble man who sees him as a person rather than a slave or a thing to be used. There is a part of Derek that is well aware of the fact that he is more than a little in love with the human. There is another voice that warns him that this could be Kate all over again and that they should not trust the human.  


But there is a world of a difference between Kate and Stiles. She had lied to him from the start and Stiles… Stiles has been nothing but brutally honest and outspoken. The younger man had easily admitted at their first meeting that the Hiring was his friend’s meddling because Stiles had been curious about being with a man but not courageous enough to try anything on his own, so she had taken matters into her own hand and Hired Derek for him. Apparently his friend was on good terms with the Argents.  


He smells nothing like Kate either. Stiles has a musty scent that Derek enjoys taking in - parchment, ink and something sweet and unidentifiable- enjoys it far more than the cloying scents that Kate prefers. He pulls one of Stiles’ hands out of its death grip and sniffs at the palm, laving his tongue in between the digits. No matter how many times he tries to identify the scent, Derek just cannot put a name to it.   


The fingertips pressing against his mouth make him blink in surprise. Stiles is peering up at him, his eyes as dark as the night sky when he murmurs, “Suck.” and presses his fingers more insistently against Derek’s lips.   


More than happy to oblige, Derek parts his lips and takes two long digits in. He closes his eyes and pretends that he has Stiles’ erect cock in his mouth. The other man lets out a quiet whimper, as though he is aware of Derek’s thoughts and he cannot stand the mental images that come with them. “ _Der_ -” Stiles whines.  


The broken cry pulls Derek’s eyes open just in time to see Stiles arch off the floor and come all over himself and Derek’s hand. How strange was it that this act, a comparatively chaste act when you consider what some of the other Hires have put him through, makes him feel so human. Makes him feel more triumphant than the moment where he kills his opponents.   


Makes him feel cleansed of his sins.  


Submitting to others has always left him feeling… dirty. Angry. It makes his wolf want to rage and tear at everything around him while the human side allows the indignity because he’s earned this punishment and more. But Stiles… Stiles makes him feel reborn.  


Stiles’ trembling hand, still wet with spit, cups Derek’s cheek with such tenderness that the wolf in him wants to howl. “Derek.” The quiet sigh is softer than a butterfly’s touch and it breaks him. He orgasms with a suddenness that takes him completely by surprise and leaves him wrecked on Stiles’ shore. He looses track of time, conscious only of his breathing and how it’s in sync with Stiles. Inhale. Exhale. Slow and deep and smooth. Bit by bit, the numbness in his body begins to recede. The strange ringing in his ears stays for a while. As does the numb sensation in his toes.

 

Derek becomes aware of the hand petting his hair, carding through it with just enough strength to make the ends tingle pleasantly. The sticky sensation between their bellies has dried and he imagines that when they will part, it will be quite uncomfortable. Warm toes against his calves. A second hand slides down his back.  


"I've been looking into the matter regarding your family." Stiles murmurs. The flame flickers in response, as though it is disquieted by the man’s words. Derek closes his eyes and tries not to sigh, bracing himself for the bad news. "No seems to know anything about them. There's too many slaves matching your family's description. But given what happened to them at the hands of my fellow Romans, I doubt they'll come forward when they find out someone is looking for them."  


Derek closes his eyes and remains quiet for a long minute. "Thank you for trying." He murmurs into Stiles' hair, pressing a kiss into the sweaty forehead.

The hand on his back clenches, short finger nails dragging against his skin. "I wish I could do more." Stiles' voice grows hard as he continues, "I wish I could take you away from Gerard and Kate. I've heard all kinds of rumors and whispers about how they treat you all. It doesn't matter if you're salves and gladiators. That doesn't give them the right to treat you the way they do."  


Derek wishes that he could tell Stiles that the Argent  _ludus_ is filled with supernatural gladiators forced to engage in fights for the sole purpose of lining Gerard and Kate's purses. There is a trace amount of aconite present in their food, keeping the slaves weakened just enough for their human guards to lord over them. But just because they're in a weakened state doesn't mean that they won't be whipped harder than anyone else.   


With a heavy sigh, Derek pushes himself up on his elbows so that he can look at Stiles. The other man looks so wonderfully disheveled that Derek wants to start all over again. But the worried look in Stiles’ dark eyes make him reign his lust in. “I know.” He replies quietly, his fingertips tracing circles over Stiles’ shoulder and the marks he has left there.  


Stiles peers up at him, earnest and heart broken when he whispers, “I wish that th-” Derek  _has_ to cut him off because he cannot bear to hear the rest of the sentence. He does not want to know what Stiles wishes or if the same thing that he wishes for sometimes in the dead of the night. Derek no longer has the right to hope for something better and wishing is for children, not for men his age or his past.  


He is content to lie there on top of Stiles and exchange kiss after kiss until his jaw and lips begin to ache. A loud voice calling out Stiles name makes them pause. Their time is up. Stiles captures his tongue between his teeth and bites down on it hard enough that it stings. Derek pulls away with a start, peering down with surprise at the bold move.  


But Stiles is too busy staring at the space between their bodies with a heated look. Two fingers slide through the half dried, crusty mess that has dried on their bellies before he whispers, “There are so many things that I wish for. Many of them that I cannot even fathom into words.”   


Derek’s throat closes up at the sad gleam in the younger man’s eyes because he understands that sentiment all too clearly. He nods jerkily, slowly sitting up on his heels before he helps Stiles up as well. They dress quickly, standing far apart from each other. His wolf is restless and aching already as it anticipates Stiles’ loss. Like their other meetings, Derek fights down the urge to grab Stiles and just  _run_. Find a place far away from Roman influence where they can be together. And like always, Derek bites the urge down.

 

The _Doctore_  slips in with two guards on his heels. While the dark skinned man speaks with Stiles and asks if he found his Hire satisfactory, the guards slip the shackles back in place and begin to drag him out. His eyes go to Stiles, desperate for one moment more. The younger man looks utterly stricken as the slave prattles on. “- be finalized next week. Only the payment has to be made and this one will be sent away.”

 

What?

 

"I cannot…" Stiles starts irritably, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Is there no way a lower price can be negotiated?"  


_What_? Derek stumbles on his way out, heels digging into the floor as he tries to understand what is being said. Has he been  _sold_? To another  _lanista_?

 

The _Doctore_ shakes his head, "The payment has already been made for that one." Stiles opens his mouth, undoubtedly to argue some more but Derek misses his next words because the guards yank him out of the room, growling at him to move.  Derek's last sight of Stiles is his cheeks high with color, brow wrinkled in a frown and voice loud in anger.  


As he walks back to his cell, Derek’s ears ring. Sold? How is that even possible? The Argent's _rarely_ sell any of their gladiators away. Most Argent gladiators die in the Arena. And the few that are sold off, are typically sold off to families who are said to have the most vile and evil natures. More intent on breaking their slaves than keeping them. 

 

Derek feels more than a little sick when he realizes that he did not even get to say good bye. His body grows cold. He shakes as the guards unchain him and push him back into the cell. He didn’t even…  


"Derek?" Isaac asks sleepily from the cell next to him, "Are you alright?"  


He stares blankly at the dark and thinks, No. No he isn’t. “I’m fine.” He lies.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any additional warning tag that I might have missed then I'd appreciate the heads up.


End file.
